


sing the words wrong

by Catja



Series: Kink Meme [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dubious Consent, F/M, Kink Meme, Phone Sex, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 18:50:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10747704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catja/pseuds/Catja
Summary: Clarke is a phone sex operator, Bellamy is her history professor. Smut ensues.





	1. scared of pretty girls and starting conversations

**Author's Note:**

> I tagged dub-con because Bellamy doesn't realize he's having phone sex with a student, and of course student/teacher is inherently dub-con. They do both enthusiastically consent to the actual sex. Unbetaed and unedited, please let me know if you spot any typos.
> 
> Prompt: Clarke is a phone sex operator who gets a call from a familiar voice - her history professor. Obv dirty talk. Initial uncertain/shy Bellamy, but Clarke gets him to admit his dirty fantasies ;) Bonus if she reveals who she is at college and they fuck on his work desk.

Honestly? Clarke kinda likes her job. It's not what she ever expected to be doing at this point in her life- seven weeks from graduation thank god- but the pay is great, it's relatively low effort, and she gets to set her own hours. Definitely better than the babysitting she did in high school, and infinitely better than med school. Clarke's been working for the same phone sex agency since her freshman spring, when her mother refused to pay for a fine arts degree. After three years, she's got it figured out.

It's a Thursday, so she only has three hours of work time to get through before a quick stop in the dining hall and her one night class, the World History gen ed requirement she's been putting off until her final semester. It's Ancient Art, at least, so within her field of interest, and the professor is very passionate and knowledgeable, and as an extra bonus? He's one of the most attractive men Clarke's ever seen.

Even though Clarke knows she won't be able to actually study while she's working, she pulls out her class notes anyway. She'll switch to sketching, once she gets a call. For the first few weeks, Clarke tried to get shit done while she was working, but multi-tasking is not something she's particularly good at, but her hand can draw without too much imput from her brain, and it totally counts as being productive. She gets her quart jar of honey lemonade for when her throat inevitably rebelled against her, makes sure her belt and vibrator are handy in case she needs any sound effects, and settles in to work.

The first hour, there's nothing out of the ordinary. There are a few guys who just want to hear someone moaning for thirty seconds to get them over the edge- those are the fucking worst, because she gets basically no money for such a short call. Most of them are five minute calls, her usual, wanting her specialty- a sultry domme known as Cassandra.

But almost halfway through her shift, she gets her most interesting call possibly ever. Male, first time caller, prepaid for half an hour, no specific requests is basically the dream. When Clarke hears his voice, though, it gets even better.

"Hey baby, thanks for calling," she says, voice pitched higher than normal. It's her usual starting line for when her customer doesn't start things off themselves.

"Uh, hi," he says, gruff and familiar and a little bit awkward. "How are you doing?"

She hums, closing her Ancient Art notebook and reaching for her charcoal. "Better now that I'm talking to you."

"Wow, okay," he says, chuckling nervously. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you say shit like that. How obvious is it that I've never done this before?"

Clarke feels like she should recognize his voice. She mainly gets local calls, so there's always a chance she'll get a call from someone she knows, but it's never happened before. Still, she can't shake the feeling that she's heard him before.

"Oh, don't worry about it, you're in good hands," she says. "I'll take good care of you."

"Thanks, Cassandra. It is Cassandra, right? I picked Cassandra off the list but I wasn't sure if it would work."

"Yeah, I'm Cassandra," Clarke says. She wonders how old he is, if he doubted the system's ability to connect his call with the operator he wanted. "What's your name?"

"Cool. You can call me-" he hesitates, just long enough for her to know he's lying- "Blake."

Just then, hearing his name, her class notes in front of her, a half finished drawing of an amphora on a scrap piece of paper, everything clicks. Of course his voice is familiar, she's been listening to him for the last few weeks for hours on end. Professor Blake didn't seem like the type to be interested in phone sex, but what did Clarke really know about her callers?

_Oh, this is going to be fun._

"Tell me, Blake," Clarke says, standing. She's full of energy, somehow. Well. She's knows exactly how, her new favorite professor just called her for phone sex, and he doesn't even know. There's no way she could sit still, knowing all of that. "Why'd you call me tonight? Since you've never done this before?"

He laughs again, thinks for a second before answering. Clarke's never heard him laugh so much before; in class, he's all barely contained passion and inspirational speeches about the significance of the course content, but he's always so serious. Thank fuck Wells failed to convince her to take Intro to Military History with him.

"You really want to know? It's a long story. Actually, no, that's a lie, it's just fucking stupid. My birthday was a week ago, and my best friend thinks it's been too long since I've gotten laid and he has no sense of humor. I wasn't even gonna use the gift card, but... well, honestly, I'm stuck at work for another hour and a half with nothing to do and no one around. Figured I might as well be sitting in my office talking to someone, instead of just fucking around on my computer."

Clarke's heart speeds up at that. She's _been_ in his office, dropping off assignments, just stopping by with a few questions about the material, or asking about extra books that might help with her research. More often than she has any reason to be, honestly. She can picture him, as he probably is right now: jacket tossed in his extra chair, tie loose and sleeves rolled up. In class, he's put together in the way that new teachers always are, but as soon as he gets back to his office, he's relaxed and just wants to be comfortable.

"Mmm, yeah, I'd much rather you're fucking around with me." He laughs, and she smiles, delighted. At least someone appreciates her shitty humor. "And why'd you pick me?"

That really doesn't make sense, now that she's thinking about it. Her bio says that she's a domme, although most people don't listen that far. A lot of her callers just hear 'blonde, blue eyes, big tits' and that's all they care about, or they get her randomly. Professor Blake seems like the kind that would listen to every word.

"I just liked the name." Or not. "I'm a history teacher, focus on the ancient world, so, you know, Cassandra. And this is weird enough without talking to someone named Kandy or Scarlett whatever porn star names you come up with."

Cassandra's not even her name, and it still makes her shiver, hearing Professor Blake say it. Clarke's gonna make him say it a lot more.

"So you like mythology, huh?" she asks, still pacing back and forth, across her bedroom. "What else are you into? What's your type?"

He groans a bit. It's muted, like he moved his phone away so she wouldn't be able to hear him. "This was such a bad idea. You know what I'm into? _Reciprocity._ I don't even know what you look like, I don't know why I-"

"Didn't you listen to my bio?" Clarke asks. "It tells you what I look like."

"Um, no," he says, slow. "I didn't know that was a thing. Phone sex virgin, remember? Besides, those are mostly bullshit, aren't they?"

Clarke snorts inelegantly. "Don't worry, I'm hot enough I don't need to lie about my appearance. Blonde hair, blue eyes," she recites, "white, five foot six, curvy, great breasts. Twenty two," she adds, though giving her age is discouraged. Usually, the callers don't want to know, or they have an idea of how old they want her to be.

"You've _got_ to be fucking kidding me. Okay, there's this one girl in my next class, looks just like... you." He doesn't sound convinced that Clarke looks like herself, which is pretty funny, honestly. She's let so many callers tell her what they want her to look like, and she's played the part, but now someone she knows doesn't believe she looks like herself. Ridiculous.

"She's got the best tits I've seen in my entire life," he continues, with no respect for her racing thoughts, "and this voice, she sounds so sexy. And she keeps coming by my office for dumb shit, and the way she dresses, I s she's trying to kill me..."

Clarke looks down at herself. It's finally getting warm, so she's wearing a little sundress, pale blue with a sweetheart neck and probably too short, lacy leggings underneath and a cardigan in case the classroom is too cold.

Yeah, of course she's dressing for him.

"You wanna fuck her, don't you, Blake," Clarke says. "She's been teasing you for months, hasn't she? Your student, yeah. Does that get you hard, thinking about your student?"

Professor Blake lets out another groan. "Yeah, of course it does, until I think about how it would ruin my career. My entire life, basically."

"No, no, you don't need to think about that right now. All I want you to think about is how much you want her- me- and how I'm gonna make you feel good, Blake."

Clarke's never been this wet while she's working before. She can already tell she's going to have to change her panties before sitting through class. God, how is she going to survive the rest of the semester, knowing Professor Blake has been thinking about her, just like she's been wanting him?

"Yeah, that's not gonna work for me," he says, voice dry. "Reciprocity. You're, what, sitting in the middle of a cubicle farm, surrounded by dozens of moaning women, wearing a polo, and there's no way you look like Cl-"

She interrupts him, unable to bear hearing him say her name right now, even if her heart is pounding at the confirmation that he really did mean _her_. She can't afford to think about that, not yet. "Did you get all of your information about my profession from a 90s rom com or something? It's come a long way. I'm in my bedroom, alone. If I was 'surrounded by dozens of moaning women' you'd be hearing them right now." Clarke takes a breath, trying and failing to calm herself. "What do you want, Blake?"

For a few seconds, all she hears is his breathing, sounding as heavy as hers feels. "I need this to be as good for you as I assume it will be for me," he says, finally, like it's costing him something. "And that's not gonna happen, so- I should never have called, I'm just gonna-"

"No, don't hang up. I'll make it good for both of us, I promise." Clarke settles back on her bed, reaches for a bullet vibe and presses the on button. "Can you hear that?"

"The buzzing?"

"Yeah, Blake, that's my vibrator. As soon as you let me make you feel good, I'm gonna press it up against my pussy, make it feel good too, okay?"

Waiting for him to answer is torture. Clarke hasn't ever been this desperate to please a customer. She can't remember the last time she was this turned on.

"But I don't _know._ I need to know."

"Do you?" Clarke asks, not really thinking. It's really bad, for her to stop thinking while she's working, but work has never been like this. "You can trust me, huh, can't you, Blake? Just trust me and you'll feel so good, we both will."

"Yeah. Yeah, okay. I guess nothing good ever came of calling Cassandra a liar."

Clarke almost laughs in relief. It only took half the call to get Professor Blake to let her do her job. "Yeah, that's right."

"Do you have a louder vibrator?"

Clarke glances over at her toy box on her nightstand. Who ever wanted a loud vibrator? "Just my Magic Wand, but if I use that I'm pretty sure I'll cum in about ten seconds, I'm so wet."

"Wet for me, baby?"

Professor Blake's voice has shifted, from the casual chatting voice he'd been using, the one she'd heard when she'd visited his office, to something darker, more intense, and it's so hot.

"Yeah, professor, I'm so wet for you, ever since-"

Ever since she realized it was him, she realizes. Can't say that, though, so instead, she says, "since you said my name."

"I bet your pretty little cunt is just dripping for your professor, isn't it, Cassandra."

Clarke would be embarrassed at the whine she lets out, if he wasn't so obviously into it too. "Yes, professor, I've soaked through my panties for you."

"Good girl. Now get your Magic Wand, Cassandra, and give your pussy some love for me."

Clarke obeys, grabbing the vibrator and settling back against her pillows. She tugs her dress up around her waist, shoves her leggings down around her ankles and her underwear to the side, then turns it on. Even on the lowest setting, it won't take long. "Yes, professor, I got it. Can you hear it?"

"Yeah, baby, I can hear it. Now press it up against your clit, nice and gentle."

That won't work for her, but he doesn't need to know that. She presses the head of the vibrator against the opening of her cunt, the edge against her clit, just the way she likes it. "Fuck, it's so good, professor, I'm gonna- oh, fuck, please."

Normally, Clarke has to work herself up for a while, push herself hard over the edge, but right now, with the image of Professor Blake in his office, his dick hard _for her_ , knowing she has to get off before he will? She's so close, so quickly, just needs a little nudge.

He gives her one. "Come for me, Cassandra."

And just like that, her first orgasm sweeps over her. Clarke angles the vibrator away from her clit, pressing her finger just right to ease her through the aftershocks. Most of the time, when she actually bothers to masturbate while working, she'll gasp and moan as she comes, so the callers get something out of it, but Professor Blake doesn't seem like he wants her to fake anything. So Clarke lets herself enjoy it, too overwhelmed to make a sound.

When her body has finally quieted, the last tremors fading away, Clarke sighs, happy, and turns the vibrator back off, leaving it pressed up against her cunt.

"Were you a good girl for me, Cassandra?"

"Yes, professor, I came just like you wanted, but I'm still so- I still want you so badly." It's a lot of effort right now to remember her work voice. Probably it would be bad to give him any way to figure out who she is, but at the moment she can't remember why.

"I know you do, baby." He's silent for a few seconds, long enough that Clarke starts to worry she's lost him again. Sure enough: "I'm not really sure where to go from here."

"Haven't you ever had phone sex before? I thought you were good now," Clarke says. She can't stand the idea of losing another of their precious few minutes to talking him into this again. The end of this call is already unbearably close.

Professor Blake chuckles. "Yeah, sure I have, with ex-girlfriends or boyfriends, who I _knew_. But ' _so, babe, what are you wearing?_ seems so stupid right now-"

"A dress," she says, interrupting him. Clarke just wants to get to the part where he's got his hands on his dick, thinking about _her_. "It's blue, like light denim blue? And pretty short, if I'm not careful you'd see my panties. Those are-" she checks, quickly, "gray, with white polka dots."

"And they're wet for me."

"Yes, professor."

"I bet your tits look so nice in that dress, huh, baby."

"They look nice in everything, and better in nothing," Clarke says, a bit prim, and Professor Blake laughs. She glances down, admires the twin curves, rising above the neckline that would be conservative on anyone else. "But yeah, they do. Your hands would feel so good on them," she says, "or your mouth."

"That what you want, Cassandra? Sit down on my desk like a good girl and pull down your dress so I can see your gorgeous tits. Fuck, they're perfect, baby."

Clarke traces along the bottom of her breasts, enjoying the feel of her lacy bra against her skin. She's feeling just good enough to take a bit of a risk. "I knew you'd like them, professor, I've seen you looking at them, in class, when I come to your office, just to see you."

"Fuck. Clarke."

Clarke freezes, for long enough that Professor Blake has time to figure out what he said. "Sorry. Cassandra. Can I- do you mind if I call you-"

"Yeah, that's- that's fine," she says, heart feeling like it's somewhere in her throat. "Whatever you want, professor." Clarke's voice feels so wrong, pitched high and breathy like this, but she's been so careless. She needs to get her head straight again. "I just wanna make you feel good, professor."

"Then get on your knees for me, baby, and tell me what you'd do to please me, Clarke."

Her cunt clenches at the sound of her name. Clarke trades the magic wand for a glass dildo, perfectly curved to hit her g-spot. "I'd start with my hands. I bet I'd need both of them, one around the base of your dick, one around the tip."

"Have you been thinking about my cock, Clarke?"

"Yes, professor, sometimes I can barely focus during class, I'm just thinking about how good you'd feel in my hands, so hard and perfect. Or how much I want to get my mouth on you." Clarke gets up on her knees, riding down on the dildo. "I'd go nice and slow, with my hands, and when I couldn't stand waiting any longer, I'd lick you. Just at the tip, just little licks. You'd like it if I teased you, wouldn't you professor? If I made you wait for my mouth on your cock."

"You know I would, baby, you're always such a tease, bending over at your desk, pushing your tits together for me, looking up at me. Making me want you when you know I can't have you."

"Yes you can, professor, you can have me, please."

"Fuck, babe. I wouldn't let you tease me for long, would I?"

"No, professor, you wouldn't."

"Are you still being good for me, Cassandra? You still making that little pussy of yours feel good?"

"Yes, professor, I am."

"Tell me how."

"I'm lying on my bed, fucking myself with a dildo, and I'm rubbing my clit for you. Wish I was riding you instead, though, professor, you'd fill my pussy up so much better. What are you doing?"

Usually, Clarke doesn't bother asking about her clients- it's on them to get themselves off, and if they're not following Clarke's directions, she doesn't give a shit- but Professor Blake is different, of course. Clarke takes a sip of her lemon water. This call is easier than they usually are, since talking isn't as rough on her throat as constant moaning and gasping, but it helps center her, calms her down a little.

"All I've got are my hands, baby."

"Mmm, but they're such nice hands, professor." Clarke's been dreaming about his hands- his fingers look like they'd fill her cunt perfectly. They're horribly distracting in class.

Clarke desperately wants to know more, how he likes it, it takes actual effort to remember that he's a paying customer who isn't here to fulfill _her_ fantasies. This is hot in a way she couldn't have ever imagined herself.

"Yours would feel better, so soft and sweet."

"Or do you want my mouth? Or- I'd let you fuck my tits, if you wanted, professor, would you like that?"

"Fuck, Clarke, of course I'd like that. You'd look so gorgeous, on your knees, pressing your tits together around my cock, looking up at me, fuck, so perfect, baby."

"Or maybe I teased you too much, you'd just-"

"You want my cock, is that it, Clarke?"

"Please, professor." It's so hard, staying in control. She wants so badly to just fuck herself into another delicious orgasm, but she can't, not until Professor Blake's come, not until she's off the phone, probably, and she doesn't want that either. "Please give me your cock."

"Don't worry, baby, I won't make you wait, just lay back on my desk and pull up your dress for me, show me your pussy. Fuck, Clarke, you're so wet, you're gonna feel so good."

"You look so pretty like that, all spread out for me. Play with your tits, just like that, they deserve some love after making me feel so good. I wanna watch 'em bounce while I'm fucking you."

Clarke resists rolling her eyes, until she remembers that Professor Blake won't actually see her. She'll never understand the obsession with bouncing tits. It fucking _hurts_ , after about three seconds. Still, she obeys, slowing her steady rocking down onto her dildo, freeing up one hand to cup her breast through the thin jersey of her dress. "Yeah, you like looking at my tits, don't you, professor? You like watching me play with them?"

He grunts. "Yeah, baby, tell me how you like it."

"Rough, professor, I like it rough. I love when you pinch my nipples, or bite them and then kiss it better. Or when you leave marks all over them, so I'll remember how good you make me feel." Clarke tugs her dress down so she can scrape her nails over her skin, then pluck at her hard nipple. She gasps, only a little for Professor Blake's benefit.

"Fuck, Clarke, I'm gonna- you think you can come with me, baby? Think you can be good for me?"

It takes her only a second to decide if she's going to fake it for him. "I don't know professor, but I'll try." She dips her fingers down to her dripping cunt, then rubs hard against her clit in tight focused circles. Clarke isn't sure if she'll be able to keep talking and get herself off, but Professor Blake doesn't seem to need much imput from her.

"Good girl. Fuck, wish it was me inside you instead of that piece of glass, I bet your pussy would be so tight around me, so perfect. Clarke, baby, I'm- where do you want my cum, huh, baby? In your pussy, on your tits?"

Clarke's sure there's an answer Professor Blake is looking for, but she's _so_ close, she can barely think, so she answers honestly. "In me, in my pussy, please, professor, I wanna come on your cock, I wanna feel you inside me, _please_."

"Whatever the hell you want, baby, you've been so good for me, fuck, _Clarke._ "

The sound of her name on her professor's lips, a slight change of angle for her left hand, and Professor Blake's rough groan as he comes push Clarke over the edge as well, so much better than her first orgasm, now that her cunt can pulse around the dildo, her fingers so much nicer to work her through the aftershocks.

It's hardly the best Clarke's ever been at her job, but fuck if this isn't the hottest thing that's ever happened to her.

Professor Blake is silent for almost a minute, long enough that Clarke worries he's hung up, then he asks, in his ordinary voice, "You got off, right, Cassandra?"

Clarke smiles, slowly pulling the dildo out and setting it on her desk to wash off after work. "Yeah, I did, don't worry. You're good?"

He chuckles, says, "I'm great. Thanks, Cassandra. Am I supposed to thank you? What's the protocol here? Are we expected to make small talk until the time runs out?"

"No expectations, Blake. Honestly, my clients usually hang up as soon as they come. They don't want to pay a penny more than they have to. I can't remember the last time I got an actual thank you."

"That sucks. I bet they don't even care if you enjoy it."

"Not as much as you did." She checks the clock. "You've only got about a minute left of prepaid time, though." Not enough to save for later; not enough for another call.

Of course, Clarke knows where to find him. She doesn't need him to call again, though she rather wants him to.

"I guess I'd better go then," Professor Blake says, sounding reluctant. "Thanks again, uh, Cassandra."

"Bye, Professor Blake."


	2. can't have it any other way

Clarke doesn't change before class, though she knows she ought to. _Probably_ she shouldn't ever let Professor Blake- or anyone, really- know what just happened. It's not like anyone even knows what she does. Usually, she claims to be in telemarketing, doing cold calls for an insurance company, which is boring enough that no one ever asks for more details, and not so far from the truth that people will wonder why she's got such a nice bluetooth headset.

She does clean up, though, changes her underwear for a similar gray dotted pair. Wishful thinking.

Ideally, Professor Blake will figure it out on his own, and just keep her after class to- what, confront her? Fuck her? Tell her that it was great but completely inappropriate and pursuing anything more would jeopardize his career and her education and isn't worth it?

Clarke knows which one she'd prefer.

The hour between Professor Blake hanging up and the beginning of class is unbearably long. Her thoughts keep running back over that call, trying to cement every detail into her memory: the way he groaned out her name as he came, the way he _needed_ her to be satisfied, how he'd been wanting _her_ even before this.

Then, of course, Clarke gets so lost in her thoughts that's she's running late. She doesn't have time to put her leggings back on, almost forgets her cardigan, and she's pretty sure she doesn't have half of her notes. She skips the dining hall and stops in at the cafe in the rec center and gets a sandwich to eat as she walks and a massive iced coffee to keep her focused during class. Well, focused on the actual class material, since she doubts it'll be hard to pay attention to Professor Blake.

Clarke is actually _late_ for class, for the first time in probably three semesters. The classroom door's shut, because Professor Blake can be loud sometimes and neighboring teachers have complained, so when she slips into the room, five minutes into the lecture, everybody notices. There are only a couple dozen students in the class, and it feels like every single one turns to look at her. Clarke leans into it, shakes her coffee in explanation, and heads to her usual seat, second row on the center aisle, instead of hiding in the back row as she originally planned.

It's not until she's in her seat, leaning over to dig her notebook out of her backpack, that she realizes that Professor Blake actually stopped talking. Clarke glances up to see him staring at her, eyes wide, jaw muscles twitching. It's only a couple of seconds that they're staring at each other, but it feels longer.

Clarke looks down first, pulling out her notebook then sitting back in her seat. "Sorry, professor," she says.

Professor Blake clears his throat, glances at her dress again, then turns back to look at his powerpoint.

Maybe her best case scenario is going to happen. Maybe Professor Blake's been able to figure it out on his own, maybe he'll be able to do something about it without any further input from Clarke. Maybe she'll get what she wants.

Probably not. It's much more likely that he's figured it out on his own, and he's _not_ going to do anything about it, and Clarke's just going to have to live the rest of her life not knowing what Professor Blake looks like and feels like in person.

Clarke has a hard time staying focused in class. Despite her two orgasms earlier, Clarke's still keyed up and needy, and it's not long before she's soaked through her second pair of panties this evening. Professor Blake's voice just sounds so good, even if it's not in that sexy tone she's a little addicted to now. He looks even better.

It's one of those very warm spring nights, and the university hasn't turned on the air conditioning yet, so the classroom is quite warm. Clarke's glad of it, since it means she can leave off her cardigan, and she doesn't mind her bare legs.

Professor Blake likewise isn't wearing a jacket, or a tie, and his sleeves are pushed up around his elbows, informal in the way he almost never is in class. His skin is gorgeously dark against the white of his shirt. Clarke can't stop remembering that his hands were on his cock not too long ago, and every time he turns, Clarke can't keep her eyes from drifting down to admire the curve of his ass in his dark wash jeans.

It's horribly distracting. She's used to just getting peeks of him like this, when she stops by his office, not two hours in a row.

Professor Blake isn't lecturing as confidently tonight as he usually is. He spends more time looking at his notes or the slides than the class. Normally he's huge on making eye contact with the students, welcomes questions, and encourages discussion. But tonight, he's a bit stiff. He even lets them go early, allegedly to work on their group projects for their final, which isn't due for weeks. As soon as he reminds them of the assigned reading and virtual museum tour they have to do that week, Professor Blake practically _flees_ the classroom, a full hour before class ought to end.

Not that the students care.

Clarke's group meets briefly, but no one actually wants to stick around at eight thirty on a Thursday night, so they stay just long enough to pick a time to meet next week.

Clarke ought to leave. She has an article to read for class tomorrow, she has a dozen sketches she should finish, she should go do laundry so she can spend Saturday morning in the studio instead of her dorm's creepy basement. It would even be better if she logged a couple more hours of work, to put toward the deposit for a post-graduation apartment.

But instead her feet take her the familiar route to Professor Blake's office.

She tries to convince herself that he won't even be there. Probably class ended early because he has real life obligations and responsibilities. Maybe he's got a significant other he's rushing home to- or no, wait, he told her he hasn't gotten laid in too long. Of course he could be in a celibate relationship, but Clarke doesn't think he'd be calling a phone sex hotline if he had someone waiting at home. He doesn't seem the type.

Clarke breathes a sigh of relief when she sees the light through the open door of his office. She can hear the weird minimalist classical music he likes to listen to while writing from the other end of the hallway.

She should leave. There's absolutely no reason Clarke should be here right now. Her brain is too frazzled to even think of an excuse.

Clarke pauses in the shadows outside his doorway. This whole wing of offices has been abandoned for the night, which makes Clarke feel like she's sneaking around. She spares a moments thought for how hot that would be, then leans forward to peek into his office.

Professor Blake isn't writing, despite the weird sounding piano playing from his computer speakers. He's not at his desk, and when Clarke steps forward, almost into his office, she can't see him at all. Unless he's hiding behind the door, which would be too ridiculous even for today, Professor Blake isn't here at all.

Half disappointed, half relieved, Clarke tightens her grip on her bag and turns to leave.

He's right there, of course, standing a few yards away, staring at her, frozen still.

Clarke's not much better: a little unsteady on her feet, lips parted and breath heavy. She feels so exposed, the way his eyes are taking her in; she can almost feel it.

Professor Blake breaks the silence. "What-" he starts, then pauses to clear his throat. "What are you doing here, Clarke?"

Her mind races to find an answer, any answer. She shrugs helplessly, unable to come up with an excuse. She doesn't have a question about the course, can't come up with anything she'd like to know more about except for _him_ , doesn't have any grades she wants to argue about.

He can't stop looking at her dress.

"You're Cassandra, aren't you," Professor Blake says eventually. "That's why you're here."

Clarke nods.

Professor Blake crosses the space between them in a few steps, cups her jaw with both hands, and kisses her.

She barely registers the sound of her bag hitting the floor. Her hands come up around his arms, and somehow, her back presses against the wall. Clarke's too caught up in the feel of Professor Blake's mouth moving against hers to wonder how that happened. His lips are firm against hers, hot and wet and openmouthed without too much interference from his tongue, just the way she likes it, his hands so gentle in comparison. Professor Blake isn't even that close to her, really. One hand slips down around the back of her neck, the other teasing at her ear.

Clarke lets out a sharp groan at that, and tugs him closer, further into her space, but still he keeps some sort of distance. If he wasn't her professor, making out with her in the hall outside his office, during class hours, she could have called it a respectable distance.

Without breaking their kiss, Professor Blake guides her into his office. Clarke hears the faint click of the lock behind her, and then his hands are on her ass, lifting her onto the edge of his desk. He's got a little extra height on her, this way, and Clarke loves it, the way he's crowding around her, surrounding her, hands running up and down her back and tangling in her hair. Professor Blake hasn't tried to get anywhere near her breasts, yet, which Clarke would almost be insulted by, if he hadn't already told her they were perfect. _Respectable_ , she thinks, and can't hold back a chuckle, can't resist the urge to pull back a little and look at him.

He drops his head onto her shoulder, mouth pressed lightly against her neck. Clarke pets at his hair; she's been wanting to for months, and it's as lovely as she'd been imagining.

"Fuck, baby," he says. "Tell me you want this too." Professor Blake sounds as wrecked as she feels.

Clarke's sure the last few months have been worse on him. It's easier to accept attraction toward a student than a teacher, and Professor Blake seems like he's been agonizing over it.

She presses a quick, reassuring kiss to the most accessible part of him- just above his ear. "I do want you. I've wanted you since I saw you," Clarke admits, all in a rush. She wants to get it out before she needs to make eye contact with him again. "I told you the truth, before. You were right. I picked this dress out for you, before you even called, and I came up here because I just- I wanted to see you. _Please,_ professor."

He kisses her again, instead of answering. Clarke sighs, relieved, against his mouth, then gasps when she feels his hand tracing up her inner thigh, just above her knee. He nudges her legs apart, and without moving her dress or panties at all, runs one finger along her cunt.

"Oh, Clarke," he breathes. "You're so wet." Clarke whines at his teasing feathery touch. "Don't worry, baby, I'm gonna take care of you."

"Please," Clarke says, spreading her legs further apart for him and pressing against his fingers. "Please, professor."

Professor Blake mouths at her neck for a moment, little teasing kisses, then stands. "Take these off," he says, one finger tugging at the waistband of her panties, voice soft but leaving no room for disobedience.

Clarke doesn't even bother trying to make it sexy. They're just gray polka dotted cotton, just like she told him on the phone, and there's no way to be sexy while trying to remove them with her yellow toms on and also not fall over. When she straightens up, soaking panties in hand, he's sitting at his desk. Clarke can just barely see the outline of his cock through his jeans. He looks big; Clarke can't wait to get her hands on him, or her mouth. She doesn't even care how, she just needs him.

"Sit," he says, nodding toward the empty patch of desk in front of him where his laptop was.

Clarke obeys. Her dress slides up as she sits, leaving her ass bare against the cool wood of the desk.

Professor Blake takes her underwear, thumbing at the wet patch then dropping them into a desk drawer. "I might give them back later, if you're good for me," he says, tone light and conversational. "Are you going to be good for me, Clarke?"

"Yes, professor."

"I know you will, baby," Professor Blake says, then circles her wrists with his hands, guiding them to grip the edge of his desk. "Leave your hands right there for me."

He settles between her thighs, his face on level with her breasts, and runs his fingers up and down her thighs, nudging her dress up inch by inch. It's so hard to hold herself back, to be good. Her whole body's tense. Clarke doesn't know how long she'll last before she snaps.

Once he's got her dress up around her waist, her cunt on display for him, Professor Blake just looks at her for a long moment. Clarke can feel herself pulsing, clenching around nothing, and she whines, desperate.

"You want something, baby?" Professor Blake asks. His hands are gripping her thighs, thumbs just a couple inches away from where she so badly wants his touch. "Tell me what you want."

" _Anything,_ , professor, please." He's nothing like she expected him to be. Professor Blake's so passionate, so expressive while he's teaching; it's strange to see him so controlled.

"You smell so sweet, I think I need to taste you first. You want my mouth on your pussy?"

Her hips jerk off the desk at the thought, and he chuckles. "Yeah, you want it, I know you do." He pulls her forward and lifts her legs up, hooks them over his shoulders. Clarke can feel his warm breath against her cunt. He's so close.

"Keep your hands on the desk."

And without any warning or further preparation, Professor Blake licks into her, first one long stripe the whole length of her cunt, barely flicking her clit at the end. Clarke falls back onto her elbows, knocking something off the desk behind her. Professor Blake fucks her with his tongue, so softly, his nose nudging against her clit, not _enough_ but still so fucking good. Clarke's thighs tighten around his shoulders. He teases her, his tongue tracing around her cunt then flicking inside, avoiding her clit.

Clarke's about three seconds away from taking care of things herself when Professor Blake slides one long finger into her.

"Oh, fuck, professor," she gasps. "More, please, I can take more."

Professor Blake pulls back a little. "You want two, baby?" He presses his thumb gently against her clit, moving in tiny circles.

"Uh-huh."

"You gotta get them wet for me, baby."

Clarke pushes herself back up into a sitting position. "Yes, professor."

He traces her lips with his index finger, coating them in her wetness. She chases his finger, licks away her own familiar taste, then opens her mouth for more. Professor Blake feeds her three fingers. Clarke runs her tongue around and between them, not bothering to actually get them wet. She can feel herself dripping down her thighs, onto the desk. There's no way she's not ready for more.

"Good girl." Professor Blake drags his fingers against her lips as he slides them out of her mouth. "Tell me what you want. You want me to fuck you with my fingers, baby?" He runs his fingertips along her cunt, so mean, tracing their way down to her ass and back up again.

Professor Blake keeps up his slow exploration of her cunt, fingers barely dipping into her, making her whine, making her want more. If it weren't for the dark look in his eyes and the things he told her he wants to do to her, with her, she'd be-- well, Clarke would be taking care of herself. But Professor Blake looks like he's barely holding himself back right now. Clarke can't wait to find out how he'll be when he loses control.

"Yes, please professor, I want your fingers inside me, they'd feel so good, please."

Clarke's never been very vocal in bed, especially not now with her job, but there's something so sexy about Professor Blake wanting her to talk, wanting to know what she wants. And she's usually pretty neutral about being talked to, but Professor Blake's voice sounds so good, telling her how good she's being, what he's going to do to her. Probably it's just him, nothing to do with talking at all. But it's nice to know that she can be into this.

"Please, I'm so empty, I need you.

"Inside you where, baby? Where are you empty?"

"In my pussy, pl- oh, fuck!"

Without any warning, he thrusts all three fingers inside her. They're so long, fill her up so nicely. He sets an almost painful rhythm, fucking deep and fast, curling just right inside her. If his fingers feel this good, Clarke can only imagine how amazing his dick's going to be.

"You like this, Clarke?" he asks, getting her legs up over his shoulders again and pressing a kiss to her thigh. "Tell me, baby."

How is he so _ridiculous_? Clarke's laugh turns into a moan as his lips catch around her clit, his tongue flicking at her. "I love it, professor, it's so good, you make me feel so good." Her hands itch to tangle in his hair, the dark curls she's been eyeing since syllabus day, but Professor Blake said to keep her hands on the desk and she doesn't dare disobey. She's too close to risk him stopping.

He gets a fourth finger into her, somehow, and sucks on her clit to make up for the painful stretch. It pushes her over the edge, the fastest third orgasm she's ever had. She goes silent and still, whole body taut, her thighs tight around Professor Blake, not letting him go, then trembling as the shocks of pleasure consume her. He works her through it with soft slow licks at her clit, just rocking his fingers slightly inside her, until she goes limp and sighs happily.

"Fuck, professor," Clarke says. "You're good at that." She barely manages to sit up again, her body sated and boneless.

Then she sees him. He's sitting back in his chair, cock straining through his pants, licking her off his fingers. His eyes are dark and steady on her, hungry, even, taking in the sight of her coming back to herself. Even though she's still got her dress on, falling down to cover her, Clarke feels bare under his gaze.

No, she's not done yet.

While Clarke watches, Professor Blake unzips his jeans, pushing them down just enough to get his cock out. It's _gorgeous_ , long and hard and thick, with the slightest curve, a lovely purply-brown. Clarke's almost dizzy, she wants him so badly. She doesn't even care how- he'd feel perfect fucking her cunt, having him in her ass would be the most exquisite pain, and it's been way too long since she's had such a beautiful cock in her mouth. There's no way Clarke only gets to have him once. She's going to make this happen again.

Professor Blake slicks his cock up with- Clarke whimpers- _her_ wetness, and tugs at the base, almost lazy. Clarke would have expected an illicit encounter with her professor in his office would be quick and dirty. So fucking hot, like fire, not the embers underneath.

She never thought he'd take his time with her.

"What am I going to do with you, huh?"

Clarke watches his hand, mesmerized by the slow movement. "Whatever you want, professor." It's true, even.

"I know, baby, you're being so good for me. You wanna ride me? Yeah, that sounds good, doesn't it?"

Professor Blake's desk chair is just barely big enough for her to mount him. Clarke pulls her dress up around her waist, so they can watch as her cunt swallows up his dick. She's suddenly thankful he prepared her so well, getting her wet and stretching her out. Even so, he's too big for her to get all the way down. That'll have to wait for her throat or her ass.

"Fuck, Clarke, just look at you, your pretty pink pussy taking me so good."

Clarke groans as she starts to rock against him, slower than she'd really like since she's perched rather precariously on the chair. "You feel so good, professor, I knew you would."

He gets his hands on her waist, holding her dress up so Clarke can stabilize herself against the back of his chair, urging her into a faster rhythm. "You've been thinking about me, baby?"

"Since- since the first class," Clarke gasps out. She can't remember the last time anything felt this good inside her. "Your voice is so hot-"

" _My_ voice?"

"-and your hair, I wanted to mess it up," she says, tugging at his dark curls to do just that. "And you talk with your hands all the time, I couldn't stop thinking about your fingers inside me."

Professor Blake slides one hand up to cup her breast. "You wore a v-neck sweater, a few weeks ago, so gorgeous, I couldn't stop myself from wanting you anymore." He leans forward to mouth at her, so nice even through her dress and bra. "Too fucking sexy, baby, and you kept teasing me, didn't you?"

"Uh-huh, yeah, I did, professor, I did, I was hoping you'd fuck me, just like this."

With a groan, Professor Blake stands up, still inside her, hands around her ass, and drops her on the desk. Then, he _fucks her_ , fast and rough.

Neither of them manage to say much anymore, just a steady stream of _fuck, baby_ and _yeah, like that, you feel so good, professor_ against the wet sound of Professor Blake pounding into her. When her words turn to mindless begging, he presses his hand down on her stomach, against his cock thrusting inside her, his thumb right on her clit, and Clarke comes with a strangled moan. Professor Blake follows two or three thrusts later, a hot rush deep inside her.

For a long moment, he just breathes into her neck, but too soon, he pulls away and out of her. It takes Clarke a little longer to recover, and by the time she's steady enough to stand, Professor Blake's dressed again. Awkward, again.

He offers her a box of tissues and her panties; she accepts one. "You can keep them, if you'd like," Clarke says, wiping away their combined wetness just enough to get back to her dorm and her shower. "Souvenir."

Professor Blake chuckles, but nods, dropping them after a bit of consideration into his bag. "Listen, Clarke-"

"This was great," she interrupts. Clarke doesn't really want to hear any variation on 'terrible mistake, never happening again', even if it's true. She fucked him once, in spite of his best intentions, she's going to do it again. "Best in a while." She straightens her dress and finds her bag, then turns to go.

"Feel free to call back anytime, professor. See you next week."


End file.
